


The King of Wolves

by kokonutpineapple



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Also inspired by Blackford Manor from Cartoon Hangover, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Arya is Arya, Blood and Gore, Edgar Allan Poe was a freak but man could he write prose, F/M, Feminism, I LOVE SPOOKY TINGz, I've never really liked Daenerys so im sorry if im a little biased, If any of yall've read Fall of the House of Usher thats the vibe im going for, Im a sucker for female empowerment, Imagine Buzzfeed Unsolved except its just Margaery, Imagine Margaery as like Nancy Drew but more manipulative, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, Jon is a good brother, Man fuck the South, Margaery is Queen in the North, Mystery, Northern Independence for Life, Robb Stark is King in the North, Robb is emotionally constipated, Slow Burn, That being said there will be no outright character bashing, The Starks are frantically trying to hide a secret but they're very bad at it, bc why not, its spooky time, just halloween vibes bc I refuse to acknowledge that its over, quasi Gothic vibes but still medieval, spooky season is year round
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokonutpineapple/pseuds/kokonutpineapple
Summary: Ever since winning its independence, the North has become extremely isolated. The King in the North, Robb Stark, is an enigma to the southern houses. Only eerie rumors and frightening fairy tales tell of the North and its mysterious ruler. Despite these rumors, Margaery Tyrell has been betrothed to Robb Stark in a desperate bid to gain protection from the Seven Kingdom's vengeful new queen. However, once she arrives at Winterfell, she discovers that things aren't as they seem. In fact, they are much worse. Will Margaery be able to unravel the mystery surrounding the surviving Starks, or is she doomed to live in the dark?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Background, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, also Arya's still a child so its basically just a one sided crush rn
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so this will be a two style story. The first part will be narrative style. The second will be more drabbles and vignettes. I don't want to spoil the mystery, though I doubt it will be very hard to figure out, but this will be heavily AU. Margaery especially might be OOC and Robb will definitely be OOC at times, but that will be explained in the end notes. Also a big shoutout to "Blackford Manor" by Jiwook Kim which served as a big inspiration for this fic. Be sure to check it out on cartoon hangover if you like horror or mystery. I hope everyone enjoys this, be sure to like and comment!! also let me know if you find any spelling or continuity errors, and I'll try to fix them
> 
> Also- the obligatory disclaimer: the characters, aside from some OCs, and setting are owned by George RR Martin and D & D not by me

A lonely howl pierced the monotonous rumble of the wheelhouse. The carriage ride to Winterfell was long and arduous, especially at night, but Margaery insisted on arriving as soon as possible. It would not do to be late for her own wedding. 

Not much was known about the King in the North, but the earlier she arrived to his keep, the quicker she could begin to know him. She needed to uncover everything that made him and every way he could be undone. His hopes, dreams, and desires, along with his fears, dislikes, and faults. Most of all, she needed to know his secrets. It would not do for her to enter into this marriage blind.

This was not the ideal betrothal; though of course, none of her betrothals had been particularly ideal. Renly loved Loras. Joffrey loved power. Tommen loved his mother. From the rumors that trickled South, Robb Stark loved nothing save the ferocity of battle. Bleak and cold as his homeland, the Young Wolf made a name for himself as a considerable warrior and strategist during the War of the Five Kings. Her handmaidens had huddled together on her bed, whispering about the icy finality of sword stroke that killed Tywin Lannister. She remembered being grateful that night that the heat of King’s Landing would protect her from the winter winds and the Northern host that heralded its arrival. Nevertheless, winter came, and the Dragon Queen still burned her enemies despite the snow. Indeed, this was not an ideal betrothal, but Margaery would rather face her betrothed than a dragon’s jaws. 

Winterfell was as drab as she had heard, but now, it possessed a eeriness similar to that of Harrenhal. Undoubtedly, it would have been teeming with life in summertime, but the winter and heavy Northern casualties from the war left it lonely and macabre. It’s stone walls and towers looked almost black as it stood surrounded by deep snow drifts and a clouded, sunless sky. As the wheelhouse passed under its gates, Margaery noticed the absence of guards and only a sparse collection of servants. Winterfell must still be running on a skeleton staff after Theon Greyjoy’s ill fated occupation. Some parts of the castle bore scorch marks, other parts were in complete ruin from the Ironborn invasion. 

She was greeted by a young man clad in black. He bowed gracefully, his dark hair falling into his face. “Welcome to Winterfell my lady. I am Jon Stark,” he greeted.

So he had legitimized the bastard, how unusual. Nevertheless, Margaery hid her surprise with a bland smile, “Likewise Lord Stark, though I wonder what a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch is doing this far away from the Wall.”

Jon began to fidget subtly. “I am here at the request of my brother. House Stark has always supported the Night’s Watch and we are happy to repay them in any small fashion. There have been reports of, uh, incidences that mirror recent attacks by wildlings.”

Jon was obviously not accustomed to lying. Perhaps she could turn that to her favor. Let the poor boy be her insight on the true state of things in the North.

“Surely the King is capable of handling a few wildlings on his own. I would worry if these wildlings are such a persistent problem in my new home.”

Jon unconsciously squeezed his fists, and his eyes betrayed a hidden panic. “Oh no, my lady, there is no need to concern yourself. I assure you, the wildlings are of little import. There is no need to inquire any further.”

Margaery smirked internally. Plastering a look of innocence, she asked demurely, “Oh I apologize Lord Stark, but I’m afraid you’ve confused me. If the wildlings are not a threat, why call upon you in the first place.” There was a brief flash of horror in his eyes before he quickly masked it, and Margaery knew she had him.

“Well, uh, it's not the wildlings that are really the problem. It’s that the recent attacks imply the possible presence of the Others near Winterfell. Having experience with the Others and having the King’s confidence, Lord Commander Thorne tasked me with ensuring that the threat of the Others remains outside our borders.”

Margaery giggled girlishly, “Well that’s very noble of you Lord Snow. I thank you for your bravery.”

Jon’s agitation had reached its tipping point. Flustered, he stuttered, “ Well, yes, you’re welcome. If you’d excuse me, I, uh, need to go patrol the walls my lady.” She watched as he hurried away from her like a chastened pup.

I think I’ve found my way in, she thought to herself. While that blasted Stark honor prevented him from purposefully divulging any secrets, Jon had no idea how much he revealed unwittingly. The King in the North was turning out to be quite unconventional. Whatever is plaguing this keep, it was enough for him to break tradition by ordering his bastard brother back and legitimizing him. He had simultaneously violated his rights as king and strayed from tradition: two things Starks are typically loathe to do. If Margaery could just charm some of the servants, she may be able to extract enough information to solve this conundrum. Something was definitely wrong with Winterfell. 

Margaery’s rooms were as drab as the exterior of Winterfell. The air was stale, everything was coated in a thick layer of grey dust, and the wooden door was so warped that the maid needed to bodily throw herself against it to get it to open. The entire room stank of disuse; Margaery could hardly imagine a formidable woman like Catelyn Stark having allowed this state of disrepair to exist whilst she was alive. Margaery turned to the maid. “I would like a bowl of warm soup if you please. I’m afraid I’m quite cold.”

The maid had a panicked look to her and she meekly whispered, “My apologies milady, but there is no warm soup to be had.”

Curious. Very curious. “Are there not any vegetable stores saved from the harvest, or some beef bones to make broth?” she inquired casually.

“N-no milady. We were not able to gather many crops with the war taking all the men away.”

“And the bones?”

The maid looked like she was about to cry. “I’m sorry milady. The squids killed most of the livestock in the area. Those of us that stayed after they left survive mostly off game. The rabbit and deer bones make for a weak stock.”

Margaery was growing more appalled by the reality of Winterfell each moment. How had no word of this reached the South? Surely it is important to know that one of the Great Houses is on the brink of collapse.

“Then I shall be having venison for my supper. Thank you-”

“Beth Cassel milady,” the maid squeaked. 

“Thank you, Beth. If you would join me when I sup, I would greatly appreciate it. I would like to know more of my future household.”

“If it pleases you milady,” Beth sighed in relief. The poor girl must be working to the brink of exhaustion, she deserved some time to rest. Nothing like gossiping over a hot meal to relieve one’s stress.

The venison was less juicy than the roast pig and sweet fruits Margaery ate back home in the Reach, but it managed to satisfy her hunger all the same. In a few bites, she found herself full. She set it down and watched Beth eat her venison. The girl was tearing at her meat ravenously as if she had not eaten in weeks. She stuffed her mouth with morsel after morsel and lapped up the juices that had collected on the plate. 

“Thank you milady,” Beth mumbled with a mouthful of food.

“It is no matter,” replied Margaery nonchalantly.

“Yes, but it is a courtesy worthy of a Stark,” said Beth as she wiped her mouth of her sleeve.  
“Lord Stark would sometimes extend the same honor to my father.”

“Your father?”

“Ser Rodrick Cassel. Winterfell’s master at arms.”

“I see, so you must have practically grown up in Winterfell.”

“Yes milady. I’ve lived here all my life.”

“That’s a very long time to live in one place.”

“Yes, but I love it all the same. Winterfell is my home, and it will remain so throughout countless winters and summers alike.”

“The winter must be hard for you though. Is this your first?”

“No, when I was about six name days, I remember a brief winter, but there has been none like this one in recent memory.”

“Oh. How so? The winters in the Reach are quite mild. I’m afraid I don’t understand how one winter can differ from the other save its length.”

“The North has always had harsh winters, but this one seems to be abnormally frigid. Normally, the hot springs under Winterfell would keep us warm, but for some reason, they seem to be weaker recently. Then there’s the matter of the King Robb.”

“King Robb?”

Beth immediately froze, all the tension that had left her shoulders rushing back again. Her eyes searched the room as if trying to spot any eavesdroppers. She shifted towards Margaery, cowering behind her like a frightened mouse. “I-I apologize milady. I should not have said that about the King. He is very kind to all of us. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

Margaery put a reassuring hand on Beth’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Beth. There was no harm done.”  
However, she then clasped both of Beth’s shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. In a low but strong voice Margaery said, “Woman to woman, if he has mistreated you in anyway, tell it true. I will not tolerate any such behavior from my betrothed.”

Ironically, Beth grew more panicked at that implication. She pulled away from her, babbling shrilly. “No, no milady. You do not have the right of it. King Robb is a great man and a great king. He has given me food and shelter, and for that, I am forever grateful. He is -different- from his father, but I have no doubt that he will lead the North through this winter.”

Margaery was not reassured by Beth’s testimony, and her suspicions only grew.

Her first week at Winterfell was uneventful, unsettlingly so. No lords called upon their King, the blizzards made venturing outside of the keep impossible, and her betrothed was nowhere to be found. The castle was virtually empty with the household, except for Beth, remaining out of her sight for the most part. Margaery would often wander the halls alone, trying to imagine what it was like when the laughter of the Stark children filled them. Sometimes, she swore that she could hear someone following her, and look behind to find a tapestry askew or muddy footprints. She dismissed those moments as the products of a lonely heart and wandering mind.

Margaery’s eighth morning at Winterfell started the same as the others: wake up, dress, break her fast, but while eating her breakfast in the drafty, dim dining hall, she heard a strange thudding noise. She found Jon Snow dragging a large deer carcass into the larder. He was sweating and wheezing with exhaustion, having to drop the deer several times to catch his breath. Margaery walked over and picked up the hindlegs of the deer. 

“It’s alright my lady. You don’t need to bother yourself with this,” Jon protested.

“No, I want to help,” Margaery insisted. “I hardly have anything else to do.”

“You’ll dirty your clothes,” countered Jon.

“A little splash of blood will add some color to these dull frocks,” Margaery scoffed. Her winter clothes from the Reach were not warm enough, so Beth had given her some of Lady Sansa’s whilst she was away fostering at Riverrun for the winter. Unfortunately, the Northern style was plain and grey which Margaery detested. 

“Alright, then,” relented Jon. “We’ll go on three.”

The pair heaved the deer down the creaking wooden steps of the larder and draped it on a table for the butcher. As they set it on the table, Margaery noticed the deep gashes along the sides of the animal.

“What are these gashes?” she asked.

“Oh, wolves must have gotten to it before the hunters,” answered Jon.

“Wouldn’t they have eaten it instead of abandoning it.”

“Well then, it must have been Grey Wind.”

“Grey Wind?”

“My brother’s direwolf.”

“Why would the King’s direwolf be at the hunt?”

“Grey Wind is very loyal. He’d follow Robb anywhere.”

“The King was hunting as well?”

“Robb just returned from the hunt. He’s been gone all week. That’s why he was unable to receive you my lady,” supplied Jon.

Then where have we been getting all this fresh meat every morning, she thought. The larders are full of it. Cuts of venison and rabbit covered all the walls of the larder, all of them bloody and fresh. Either Beth is lying about or you are Jon Snow, and Beth is a worse liar than you.

“If the King has returned, might I see him? I would love to meet my betrothed face to-”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” someone interrupted.

A young girl stood at the top of the stairway, covered in mud and wearing ragged boy’s clothes.

“Arya,” greeted Jon. “This is Lady Margaery, Robb’s betrothed. You would have met her if you had come to greet her like I told you too.”

“I was playing with the direwolves,” Arya responded bluntly.

“Aye, that seems to be the only thing you do besides talk to that blacksmith friend of yours,” Jon laughed.

“What else am I to do,” Arya complained. “I can hardly water dance in this weather.”

Jon scoffed, “Tell that to the tapestries you destroyed on the third floor.”

“You know that wasn’t me,” Arya pouted. She shared a knowing look with Jon before staring at Margaery intensely. Her lighthearted smirk vanished and was replaced with a look of pure ice. Arya’s eyes hardened, and her right hand twitched at her side towards her side. 

She glared at Margaery, “I don’t trust her.”

“Arya.” Jon reprimanded sternly.

“She has the face of a liar,” she retorted as she pulled a thin blade from its sheath and pointed it at Margaery. “If you hurt my brother, make no mistake, you will be next on my list,” she said with a chilling finality beyond her years. Then, she whipped around and stalked away.

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I apologize for my lady,” he sighed. “Arya finds it- difficult- to interact with strangers. She’s harbored a lot of mistrust towards anyone outside the family since she returned from wandering the Riverlands.”

“She has had a very trying experience at such a young age. I can not fault her distrusting me,” Margaery dismissed, waving her hand. “Now what of those direwolves she plays with? Is it not dangerous for her to be around them? If I was in your position, I would be terrified to let her out of my sight especially to be around something that can take down a full grown elk on its own,” she said pointing to the carcass.

“The direwolves would never hurt us,” defended Jon. “We’ve raised them since they were pups. They are as much a part of Winterfell as the stones of the keep or the Godswood.”

“What makes you so sure?” contested Margaery. “My brother Willas breeds hounds, and even he has difficulty controlling them at times.”

“Our direwolves are like our family,” said Jon passionately. “There were many times that I could have died if not for Ghost, and it was Nymeria who brought Arya home to us in the first place.”

“And what of Grey Wind? Is he not the alpha? And he appears to be quite vicious if this corpse is anything to judge by.”

“Grey Wind is different,” said Jon adopting the same cold tone as Arya. Margaery saw Jon of the Night’s Watch, as Jon the boy disappeared. “He loves us with his whole heart. He would never hurt a Stark, but he can be dangerous to those he dislikes. You are new to the North, so I will forgive you this instance, but Arya is right in saying that the Starks protect their own. We do not tolerate liars and betrayers like those in King’s Landing. So I trust that you will remain in his good graces.”

After that, the two Starks were wary of Margaery. There was something about those direwolves, Margaery knew it. No one would be so vehement in the defence of a simple pet unless they were extremely attached to it. Even Willas had to put down a few unruly pups once in awhile. No, this attachment reached beyond that, it was something much deeper. It became clear to Margaery what she needed to do in order to see her betrothed. 

She waited until one night where the winds had subsided slightly and the snow was passable. She stood behind a stone archway by the entrance of the Godswood until she saw the slim form of Arya leave to visit Gendry. Margaery had commissioned Gendry to forge a new set of daggers she intended to gift Robb, something that would keep Gendry busy all night as well as draw the interest of the boyish Arya. 

Once Arya had disappeared around the corner, Margaery pulled the hood of her cloak up and crept into the Godswood. It was pitch black except for the eerie glow of the full moon as Margaery trudged deeper and deeper into the sanctuary. Through all the dense pines, she saw a small clearing surrounding a great weirwood. Blood red leaves sat atop the fresh, untouched snow, and the light from her lantern cast ghostly shadows on the bone white bark of the tree. There was a small reflecting pool that shone like a pearl in the moonlight. As Margaery approached the pond, she let out a startled gasp. There was a hulking wolf nestled into the base of the tree. As it raised its head, Margaery saw that its muzzle was stained red from a fresh kill. Its golden eyes reflected the orange torchlight, and it bared its teeth in a snarl matching the angry face carved into the weirwood. Margaery quickly set the lantern down and raised her hands. Slowly, she sank down to her knees and exposed her neck as a sign of submission. The gigantic beast rose and prowled towards her. 

Out of the gloom came two more direwolves, one lean and brown, the other one pure white with red eyes. The three wolves began to circle her, and Margaery kept deathly still. Grey Wind approached her, coming so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. Her heart was racing and she almost shut her eyes, but she willed herself to stand firm. The alpha then nuzzled her neck affectionately, and all the tension left her. Grey Wind let her run her hands through his soft fur, and the heat from him warmed her shivering body. He sat on her lap like he was still a cub relishing in her pets and scratches, but when the other direwolves got close to Margaery, he snarled and snapped at them until they backed away.

“Oh, you’re a territorial one aren’t you,” she cooed. “If only your master was as easy to win over.”

Grey Wind huffed contendly and closed his eyes. Suddenly, there was a rustling behind the trees, and Grey Wind stood. He nudged Margaery towards the pool and put himself between her and the source of the noise. Jon burst out from behind a pine, brandishing his sword.

“Margaery, get away from him,” he cried. The albino direwolf seemed unbothered by Jon’s ruckus and rushed over to his side. However, Grey Wind continued to growl. Jon stared at Grey Wind directly in his eyes, not backing down. After a few moments, the staring match ended and Grey Wind ran back into the forest, his form reflected in the pond as he disappeared. Margaery gave a cry of surprise. Jon rushed towards her. “My lady, are you hurt? Did he scratch you? Did he bite you?”

“No, no,” Margaery consoled, shakingly. “I am unharmed. It’s just. I swear that I saw a reflection of a man in the pond.”

After her encounter with the wolves, Jon and Arya kept a close eye on her. Even Ghost had taken to trailing after her the few occasions he left the Godswood or Jon’s side. Sometimes she would reach out to pet him, but he would always shrink away before she could. Restless and more determined than ever to find answers, Margaery began to wander the castle at night as well. She walked barefoot despite the chill to muffle the sound of her footfalls and used only a thin candle for light. As she wandered through the dark hallways, she saw a faint glow of light coming from behind a door. Snuffing out her candle, she crept closer until she heard the murmurs of conversation. She heard the pacing of boots and then Jon’s voice. 

“I can not lie for you anymore. It is getting to be ridiculous enough that I can barely get my stories straight.”

The voice that replied was husky and distant. “You must. It is the way it has to be if the North is to survive.”

“She is clever,” Jon insisted. “She will not be deceived for much longer, and when she finds out, she will run to all the Southern houses and they will rise up against us. Either I stop lying to her, or you talk to her, it is the only way to ensure her loyalty. You must maintain this betrothal or we will all die.”

“You will not force my hand. I am your king, and you will remember that.”

“You may be my king, but I am your brother,” Jon said softly. There was a pause as Jon steeled himself for what he was going to say next. “Robb, I know you are struggling. This curse weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you must persevere for the good of the North and this family. It is a difficult thing to be a king but to be a-”

“Do not speak to me of things I already know!” Robb yelled. “You will lie to her, and you will keep her away from me!”

“Do not order me around like one of your wolves,” Jon replied sharply. Then he sighed, “You can’t keep doing this. Running away from the truth. I will support you either way, but sooner or later, you’re going to have to face reality.”

“Get out.” Robb said quietly. Then in a furious roar, he yelled, “Get out!”

Margaery ran back to her room as quick as lightning. When she was finally safe, she sat with her back pressed to the door. It was only then that she allowed herself to cry.

It took her a week to muster up the courage to explore the grounds again. Following the same path, she found the door slightly ajar and illuminated by the light of the full moon. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. Margaery rushed around a corner and held her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon leaving the room tired and almost fearful. Then she heard him retreat. This was her chance. 

She was tiptoeing towards the doorway when she saw a pair of crimson eyes glowing in the dark. Margaery regarded Ghost with a small smile. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me in,” she smirked. To her surprise, Ghost nudged open the door and looked over his shoulder at her. Following his lead, Margaery went inside to meet her betrothed at last. 

The moonlight made the room appear to be carved from ice. The frosty winter air and the anticipation of the meeting sent chills down Margaery’s spine. She cringed as her bare feet touched the cold stone, but she continued to cautiously step into the middle of the study. She swiveled her head trying in vain to find a human outline hidden amongst the shadows. “Your Grace?” she beseeched quietly. 

Like her journey into the godswood, Margaery was once again met with the massive bulk of the direwolf alpha. Grey Wind rose to his full height and emerged from out of the gloom, growling lowly. It seems that Grey Wind would not be as receptive to her outside the sanctuary of the Godswood. Snapping his jaws, he stalked towards her menacingly. Ghost barked frantically, planting himself between his alpha and Margaery. Grey Wind snarled at Ghost, but Ghost refused to back down. 

Grey Wind sprang into action. He was barrelling into the smaller direwolf. Ghost was yelping in pain whilst the two tussled violently. Ghost was biting at Grey Wind’s heel desperately, but the beast was overpowering him. Clamping his jaws down on Ghost’s scruff, Grey Wind threw him at the bookshelf. Ghost collided with a thump and curled into himself whimpering. 

Grey Wind continued his advancement towards Margaery. Time seemed to have slowed and Margaery could feel the beads of sweat slide their way down her back. Any sudden movement would startle him. Margaery carefully reached behind her, searching for a makeshift weapon. Grey Wind was almost upon her. She could see his breath curl out of his nose like smoke from the cold. Wildly, she grabbed hold of a fire iron and swung at him. He jumped back and slashed at her dress with his claws. She swung again; the iron collided with his paws, yet he was undeterred. Desperately, she wracked her mind for anything that could help her. 

She had always been a fan of the macabre in her youth, and she had grown up with listening attentively to stories of monsters to the chagrin of her mother and her septa. She had also had the foresight to glance at the folklore of the First Men during her journey northwards. She scoured her memory for anything about werewolves. Wulver, the First Men called them. Susceptible to silver and the cry of a she-wolf. Margaery tried to mimic a howl, but her throat was locked with fear. Her grandmother had told her the story of the Wolf King once. A ruler in the North, he was a formidable king during the Age of Heroes. Before the Starks united the North, he was said to have terrorized the smallfolk with his pack. He was only stopped when one of the maids overheard his full name and used it to render him docile. Grandmother always said there was a power in names, as well as a power of threes.  
“Robb Stark,” she yelled, finding her voice. Grey Wind stopped his attack momentarily, shaking his head. 

“Robb Stark!” she cried out. Grey Wind began to writhe uncomfortably.

“Robb Stark!” she screamed. Grey Wind twisted and yowled as he involuntarily fell to the ground.

There is was the answer to the puzzle that had vexed her incessantly. Subdued, he no longer exhibited any outward aggression, yet he held her gaze in an unsettling challenge. Margaery knew she had him under her control , but part of her still cried out in fear and disbelief.

“Your Grace,” she said cooly, inclining her head in respect. 

Mimicking her actions at the Godswood, she once again bared her neck in submission. The wolf that was to be her husband padded over to her. Margaery let him do his ritual of circling her and nosing her hair as she sat deathly still. Satisfied with his inspection, he moved so that he was face to face with her once again. She stared him down, forcing herself to be brave. He had the face of a wolf, yet his eyes still looked impossibly human. Their golden yellow depths ensnared her curiosity as the pair regarded each other. The spell was broken when Arya burst through the doorway with her Needle. “Get away from him witch!” she accused, leveling her sword at Margaery’s neck. 

“Arya,” calmed Margaery holding her hands out in peace. “I mean no harm towards your brother.”

“I’m not stupid,” she sneered. “I see that poker by your feet. You came up here to seduce him and when you saw what he was, you went to kill him.”

“Oh please, I’m hardly some temptress sent by the Dragon Queen to destroy the North,” Margaery scoffed.

“Who said anything about the Dragon Queen,” said a dark, sly voice. “Tell us why you’re really here.” Jon moved from behind Arya and prowled towards her as wolflike as his brother.

“I’m sure you’ve read the letters. House Tyrell needed a Northern marriage to ensure the Dragon Queen did not retaliate-”

“Do you think I’m simple?” Arya interrupted. “Sansa’s told me all about you and your stupid wish to be queen. She may have her head full of songs, but she’s not completely helpless. And she’s smart enough to tell us not to trust you.” 

“I swear on my life that I have no intention of usurping power from the King,” Margaery assured. Jon and Arya glared at her. “anymore,” she bit out.

“Then why have you stayed,” demanded Jon. “Surely after seeing the state of things here you wanted to run home to all of your Southron comforts. What other reason did you have?”

The Starks had cornered her, she realized. They had encircled her and caught her like a pack of wolves hunting prey. Her only chance of survival came from the truth. She let her facade drop and her chin fell to her chest. “I stayed because I was caught in another game. I had played the game of thrones and lost, and this one was much more perplexing. How could I leave knowing that there was a secret at the tips of my figures waiting to be unearthed. It’s true, I played the game to be queen, but I also played because I loved it. I loved the mystery of it all, the weaving together of knowledge into a giant tapestry. I’ve always loved that thrill of adventure, but as you’ve said, I’m a Southron lady, where else am I supposed to find that except in a woman’s game.”

“You forget that your little game is played with the lives of others at stake,” sneered Jon.

“I played with my own life on the line,” Margaery contested. “I am aware of the risks.”

A silver slash of Needle cut through Margaery’s rebuttal.

“My father didn’t die for you to play us like chess pieces again,” agreed Arya. Her hand had not wavered one bit.

“My sister has the right of it. Tell us one reason why we shouldn’t throw you in the dungeons right now.”

“Well for one, I have yet to commit any crime,” Margaery replied shrewdly. “And why wouldn’t you send me home and break the betrothal. It’s the only way I can be kept from seducing the King as you accuse me of.”

“If we let you go, you’ll run and tell all of Westeros about Robb,” responded Arya.

“Aye, there’ll be a mob at our gates and dragons on our walls. We are tired of the game, Lady Margaery.” Jon sighed wearily. His exhaustion shown in the slump of his back and the jaded look in his eyes. “All we want it to be together as a family again and to be left alone. It is like our father would tell us, ‘when the snow falls and the wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives’.” 

“ Robb needs his pack,” nodded Arya. “We all do.”

At that Jon drew his sword and stepped towards her. “If you would please come with us Lady Margaery.” 

Margaery was about to obey until the King made his opinion known. The direwolf was standing resolutely between her and the other two Starks. He nudged her protectively so that she was fully behind him. Then, he turned towards his siblings and growled.

“Robb, this is ridiculous,” scolded Jon. “Move aside so we can detain her.”

Jon reached to lightly push Robb aside. Robb twisted his head and nipped Jon’s hand. 

“Ow, Robb what’s gotten into you,” Jon cried out as he nurse the cut on his hand. Robb merely snapped his jaws defensively in response. 

“She’s cursed him,” yelled Arya. 

“I’m not a witch,” Margaery protested. 

Arya pointed her sword accusingly at her once more. “Witch or not, you’re coming with us.’

“Arya, let her be,” Jon exhaled. Blood was steadily dripping from his wound onto the floor. “Robb isn’t going to let us anywhere near her. We do as the King commands.”

Arya looked like she was about to complain, but she wisely shut her mouth. Grumbling, she stomped out of the room. Jon followed shortly after her, taking a now recovered Ghost with him.

Once they had gone, Margaery turned to thank her protector. “Thank you, Your Grace. Now, if excuse me I must retire.”

Margaery made to return to her chambers when he blocked the doorway and roared. 

“Alright alright, I’ll stay with you,” she groaned. “But where am I supposed to sleep?”

Robb padded past her and flopped down. He looked at her expectantly and barked. 

Margaery laughed, “I see. You’re Robb Stark: King of the North, werewolf, and bed.”

Nevertheless, she sat down next to him, and nestled into his soft fur. She could feel his breathing on her cheek as she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The soft morning light filtered throughout the room. She could feel its faint warmth on her cheek, and it made her more aware of the icy cold floor she was lying on. She could feel a mass behind her, and instinctively, she cuddled into it. It was hard and lean, yet warm and comforting. It was only when she rolled over that she realized that she was sleeping next to the King in the North. The naked King in the North. 

The small, naive hope that last night was a dream vanished. Cautiously, Margaery began to slowly extricate herself from the King’s embrace. With luck, she could return to her room, and never discuss last night’s sleeping arrangements again. As she slowly tugged her nightgown out from under the King, a golden eye snapped open. The King was awake in a flash, but his eyes took a few moments to return to an icy blue.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped.

“Only what you wanted me to do,” replied Margaery with a hint of irritation. Months of eluding her and now he decides to interrogate her first thing in the morning. As if she hadn’t already revealed more than she wanted to last night.

“Oh, yes,” he said awkwardly. “I remember last night.”

Margaery did not realize that she had been fixed on his unclothed chest until he turned away from her, his eyes filled with shame. Roughly, he ripped one of the tapestries off the wall and wrapped it around himself, the embroidered wolves cloaking his naked form. His voice was barely above a whisper, but she heard him say, “I want you to leave.”

“Of course you grace,” she said full of courtesy once again. However as she moved to return to her room, he spoke again.

“I want you to leave Winterfell,” he elaborated.

Immediately, Margaery dropped her mask. How dare this-this boy, this pup tell her to abandon everything she’s worked towards for months on end. She will not be bullied away from securing safety for both her family and herself. 

“I will not,” she answered resolutely.

“You will,” he commanded, finally looking her in the eye. He was staring her down again, forcing her to submit, but she did not waver.

“You would force me out. In the dead of winter, with naught but my scant possessions. Your family made a pact with mine. We are to be betrothed. Are the Starks not as honorable-”

“I know about honor,” he yelled. Then, he deflated, and sighed with deep melancholy, “I know.”

“Fine, I can not speak to you about honor, let me speak to you about survival. Your siblings told me that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. If you send this wolf out to die, her pack will perish with her. Do you think wanted to be betrothed again after three failed marriages? Hell, if the Dragon Queen had a cock, my father would have tried to marry me off to her as well. I dislike this arrangement as much as you do, but I will endure this for my family.”

“I did not consent to this,” defended the King. “It was Sansa that answered on my behalf.”

“Then, she knows who my family supported during the war,” Margaery retorted. “Queen Daenerys is hardly merciful to those that denied her claim, and we were doomed from the minute I married Joffrey. This is hardly the life I wanted to live, but I would rather live an unhappy life then burn in dragonfire.”

Robb’s gaze softened at that. “You’re right. I apologize for my words. I understand the sacrifices one makes for the good of their family, which is why you must leave.”

Margaery’s heart went out to him for he did not look like a king in that moment, but like a survivor of true horrors. Cautiously, she approached him until she stood by his side.

“Why?”

“Because I must leave as well. Sansa is a much better ruler than I, and I can not run from the truth any longer: I am a danger to my family and to the North. I can’t continue ruling the North when it is clear that the Gods have cursed me for it.”

Suddenly, Margaery burst out laughing. “That is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard. I take it back, you Starks are insufferably honorable. I will tell you what my grandmother told me when I flowered. You will face obstacles no man could fathom, you will struggle all your life because of something you can not control. Nevertheless, it is who you are, and you must learn to use it. Despite the challenges, you will come to know that it is a gift. Now, I believe she was referring more to womanhood over lycanthropy, but I would say that it applies here.”

Robb smiled slightly, “I suppose.”

“Your Grace, the opportunities before you are limitless. You have abilities no other possesses. Use them.”

Robb gazed into her eyes again, but this time with a hint of fondness. “I sensed that we were kindred spirits. It seems I was right. I too have often felt controlled by the expectations placed on me. By my ancestry, my duty, my honor. The wolf has none of that.”

His eyes clouded over wistfully. “When I am running through the woods with no rules except those of the wild, I feel--free.”

“That freedom is something that I will never encounter outside of my little games. It is something to be cherished. And to be learned from. You say you feel chained by your honor. Your father was as well. It is what led to his death.”

Margaery waited with bated breath for his reply.

“Aye,” he nodded. “It did.”

“Then let me teach you. The world is more than black and white and good and bad. I can show you how to see those shades of grey. I can unravel all the messes and conflicts, so you will not be led blindly to your demise.”

Robb grinned wolfishly at that. “You can teach me, but on one condition. You must be honest with me and my family. No more platitudes and masks. If you have something to say, tell it true. I will not punish you for wisdom and strength. Like you said, they are things to be cherished.”

Margaery matched his expression. This betrothal may not be as dismal as it once seemed.  
She stuck her hand out. “Deal.”

Robb clasped her elbow in the old way of agreement. He did not seem to mind that this was an act typically made between two men. 

“Margaery Tyrell, this has the makings of a very interesting marriage.”


	2. The Courtship Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of snapshots set after Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! Long time no see. Thank you to everyone who viewed this, left a kudos, or commented, it all went a long way in keeping me motivated and really just lifted my spirits. So again, thank you for supporting this fic!! And as always, be sure to leave a kudos or a comment!!!

1.  
“Margaery!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve brought you a gift!”

“Oh, how nice,” Margaery replied awkwardly. She glanced at the mauled deer carcass at her feet, its dead, glassy eyes staring into her own. Blood pulsed from the wounds to its ribs, rapidly soaking the hem of her gown. She wanted to drag it to the larder and be done with it. Let the cook do all the hacking and cutting until the corpse was unrecognizable from the meat on her plate. Robb stared at her expectantly, completely unaware of the blood that coated his hands and dripped down his chin. Margaery locked her fear away in the deepest recesses of her mind. 

“Truly, this is a wonderful gift,” she said with sincerity.

Margaery heaved the deer to the larder, and set it on the butcher’s table. She rolled up her sleeves, and grabbed her dagger. She drove it up to the hilt into the deer’s chest, and pulled. A fresh wave of blood gushed from the corpse. She plunged her hands deep into its insides, and removed the innards into an awaiting bucket for the direwolves. She painstaking peeled pelt from muscle. She uncouthly beheaded the poor animal, chopping at its neck several times with a butcher’s blade. She sliced thick, juicy cuts of venison, and prepared them on a spit. She carefully roasted the meat despite the intense heat of the fire and the sweat dripping down her face.

Later, she and Robb enjoyed their meal in the privacy of their room. 

“You did an extraordinary job,” he grinned.

“It was you that hunted it, my love. Its taste has more to do with the quality of the venison than my own lackluster cooking skills.”

Robb looked down at his plate, suddenly shy. “I was worried that I had- disturbed- you,” he confessed.

“I will admit that I was quite surprised,” Margaery answered honestly. “But this reminds me more of your strength than your weakness. A King must be as fierce and hard as a wolf. He must provide for his people as if they were his pack, and he must crush his enemies with ferocity. You are as much a King as you are a wolf. You are my king and my wolf.”

Robb pressed his lips to hers passionately. Distantly, she realized that she had forgotten to wash the blood from her hands. Robb had not washed either. She could feel the crusted blood on his hands as their fingers intertwined, and taste its metallic flavor on her tongue. She doubted he noticed at all.

2\.   
There was a mob at the gates. Margaery stood at the battlements, looking out at the sea of torches that dotted the landscape like stars in the night sky. Wintertown had been overrun, its sparse inhabitants had sought sanctuary within the keep days ago.

How could this have happened? She despaired, but she had always known that Robb’s secret could never remain one indefinitely. It could have been a multitude of things: Varys’s little birds, a disgruntled servant, an observant lord, a thoughtless slip of the tongue. Hell, if Margaery could figure it out, so could others. 

Now, the hordes had arrived. Some were ambitious lords and ladies hoping to grab power. Many were smallfolk still frightened from Long Night and weary of the freefolk magic that had returned to the North in its aftermath. Some had come to see Robb as a spectacle. Many were coming to kill him. The only unknown player that remained was the Dragon Queen. They had received no message from King’s Landing, but the pragmatist in Margaery told her that she was likely flying north in haste. 

Either way, Margaery had counseled Robb to do the same thing: show them that he is the strong, capable Wolf King she knows him to be. With luck, the lords would be intimidated into complacency, and the smallfolk would learn to see him as a hero not a monster. People fear that which they do not understand, but fear can easily be changed into love and vice versa. Nevertheless, Jon and Arya were hiding with some of Jon’s freefolk allies at the edge of the woods, ready to diffuse the rabble should they begin to riot. Robb did not know of this part of the plan. Robb needed to stand on his own two feet for now. Margaery’s incessant overplanning and worrying could come later. 

Margaery saw the full moon reach its zenith, marking the hour of the wolf. She pressed her lips to the small whistle Robb had given her. “To guide me to you in times of danger,” he had whispered. “And only me.” She heard a long howl echo throughout the scene. He was beginning to have a flair for dramatics. Must have picked it up from her. 

“People of the North,” she projected. “I am Margaery Tyrell, Queen in the North and wife to Robb Stark. I know you only know me as a Southerner, but I promise-”

“Go home Southron!” someone yelled.

Unshaken, she continued, “I promise that I have become a Northerner at heart. I have come to love this land. The beauty of the Wolfswood, the fortitude of the Northern people, and the power of the Old Gods. I would never do anything to cause the North and its people any harm. It is with profound honesty that I say that my husband-”

“She lays with beasts! Wolf fucker!”

“My husband loves the North even more than I. It is his home. His refuge, and he has dedicated his life to seeing it prosper. It was he that broke you from the yolk of the Seven Kingdoms. It was he that fought bravely to see Northern justice fulfilled. And it is he that has become a great King not in spite of, but because of what he is.”

“Witch!”

“You’ve cursed our King!”

“The Southern bitch has turned our King into a beast!”

“Why does everyone think I’m a witch,” she muttered. Again, she steeled herself. “He would lay down his life for this kingdom, and this is how you repay him. Years of toil and hardship. Years of suffering, not for his own gain, but for the good of his family and his people. Never before have I met a man as compassionate and loyal as he. And to see you return his sacrifice with hatred is disgusting. You have hardened your hearts with prejudice before you have even glimpsed his face. This kingdom was built on unity and camaraderie, and to see that thrown away because of something out of your king’s control is despicable. And so I will ask you this. Let not your opinion be swayed by fear. Let our King speak and listen. And if then you still hate him, do what you will. But if you have even a speck of hope, join us in creating a legacy of peace and prosperity.”

It was then that Robb appeared, racing across the battlements like a dark demon, golden eyes aglow. There was a collective gasp among the crowd that was followed by a deafening clamor. Their worst fears were confirmed, and no one knew how to react to the King In The North. Some people broke away and ran back to Wintertown while others surged forward to gawk at his visage. However, his commanding howl along with those of his packmates quickly silenced the mob. 

Like a silk banner in the wind, Robb twisted and seamlessly transitioned from wolf to man. His form shrank and his hair became a deep Tully red. Most impressive was the way his wolfskin transformed into the pelt that draped over his shoulders and back. Robb’s lessons were paying off, Margaery thought. She was the only one to notice the momentary flinch of pain Robb felt just before metamorphosis was complete. Then, her husband stood tall and proud like a king should be. The only thing he lacked was a crown. Robb had to dip his head slightly so Margaery could fit the crown of winter upon his brow. Her fingers lingered on his cheek, and she gave him a reassuring smile before melting into the shadows.

“I stand before you during this sacred hour in the hope,” he boomed. “That by the light of dawn we will have forged a new kingdom unlike any other. A kingdom built not on fear, but on the enduring strength and unity of its people.”

His words had cast a spell over the crowd. They stood, listening to their king with rapt attention. Margaery couldn’t help, but feel a twinge of jealousy. They were so quick to obey their king, yet she could barely finish a sentence without being berated. However, Margaery pushed that aside. She would fight that battle later, now she needed to be here for Robb.

“I know you are afraid, but as my father once told me, the only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid. I know I must look to you a hideous beast borne out of disgrace from the Gods. I am not. I am a Stark of Winterfell, and I will continue to be so despite whatever form I take for my soul is that of a Stark. Like my forefathers before me, I stand for honor, for justice, and for the North. We are an embattled people, our children have grown up knowing nothing but war and hardship. Let us not continue on this path to war and destruction. It is my solemn oath to you, on my honor as a Stark, that should you choose unity, I will lead us into peace and prosperity. We are a free and independent kingdom from now until the end of time. In that regard, I see my condition as a gift from the Gods, a reminder that the Old Ways have returned and the Kings of Winter once more rule this hallowed land. I am a wolf, in both sigil and spirit, and it is with that strength that I will protect this land and its people until my dying breath.”

With that, he shed his human skin and returned to the wolf. He gave a sonorous howl and ran towards the battlement that Margaery was hiding behind. Robb looked at her expectantly like a dog awaiting praise. Margaery tried to hide her amusement, but her mirthful eyes betrayed her. Laughing, she threw her arms around his thick neck and ruffled his scruff. In return, Robb attacked her face with kisses. The King in the North acting like an overeager pup; if only they could see him now. 

“You mangy wolf,” she whined loudly. “You’ve slobbered all over my dress.”

Robb toppled her over and continued to drool all over her face.

“Ugh, you’re crushing me,” she complained, trying in vain to push his gigantic form off of her. The back of her dress had filled with snow, yet Robb still refused to move from where he was lying across her torso. Then, in a blur of limbs, he was Robb the Man again. 

“You know, this is not an improvement,” scolded Margaery, quirking her eyebrow. “You’re hardly lighter now.”

“I am a man grown,” he grinned. “And a king. I can’t afford to be as weak as a twig.”

“Be careful, or you’ll go the way of King Robert.”

“I’ll have you know that, in his prime, King Robert was a great warrior.”

“And a lecher at that.”

“Aye, but his queen was not half as beautiful as you.”

Robb kissed her, slowly and sweetly. They laid there in the snow until the cock crowed and the new day began. Margaery pitied poor Beth who was forced the wake them with the news that the lords had unanimously decided to bend the knee. Needless to say, Robb’s ardor increased tenfold in that moment, and Margaery could no longer feel the cold.

3.  
“Arya, what is so important?” asked Margaery. Arya did not reply, but continued to pull her along.

Arya had been tugging relentlessly on her sleeve since morning. In fact, Margaery awoke to find her perched on a chair watching her like a cat. Arya’s insistence had even prevented her from doing much of her morning routine. Her hair was still disheveled and her clothes were rumpled. Luckily, she had been able to dab a few drops of perfume on her wrists before Arya lost all of her patience. Arya lead her through the halls of Winterfell. 

Though still dark and understaffed, it had become much livelier under Margaery. The maids were bustling to and fro, cleaning the dust that covered the windows and empty rooms like snow and mending the furniture and tapestries wrecked in during her betrothed’s nightly activities. Still, Beth was much happier with the added company from Wintertown. She told Margary all of the new gossip and drama during their tea time. 

Arya finally stopped in front of the stables. Arya pointed to two saddled horses, and declared, “Come riding with me.”

“Arya, I can’t,” Margaery declined. “I have household duties, and besides, I'm a notoriously awful rider.”

“Well, you’ll need the practice if you’re going to marry Robb. Northern ladies need to be good riders,” argued Arya. “ Sansa hated riding too, but Father insisted she learn.”

“I can’t abandon my duties,” countered Margaery.

Arya crossed her arms, petulantly. “I know that stupid. Beth already agreed to take care of everything. Now,” she pointed to the horses. “Riding.”

Arya lead her into the eerie expanse of the Wolfswood. She set a ferocious pace; their horses kicked up clouds of snow with every gallop. Margaery smiled as the wind tousled her hair, and her horse leapt over a small brook. They arrived at a small grove of gnarled, black trees.  
Arya gracefully brought her horse to a stop, while Margaery struggled to rein hers in. The mare was kicking and thrashing. It reared up and Margaery was thrown from her saddle. Luckily, her fall was cushioned by the deep snow, but as she sat up, she saw that the hem of her dress had been torn. Arya eventually managed to get the horse back under control, but the mare was still skittish.

“I’m taking her back to Winterfell,” she announced.

“I thought you wanted to go riding.”

“We already went riding.” At that, Arya trotted off, guiding Margaery’s horse back to the castle while she lay dazed and confused on the forest floor. 

Margaery brushed the snow off of her ruined dress and began to walk back to Winterfell. She heard a familiar voice within the surrounding trees. 

“Jon, we’ve been out here almost all morning. I don’t think we’re going to find your missing brooch.”

This was the first time Margaery heard Robb speak to someone with such familiarity. They had barely spoken after the night they met despite their promises to one another. Now officially betrothed, Margaery had been overwhelmed with all of the work of the future lady of Winterfell while Robb remained busy with matters of kingship. 

“It’s a very important brooch. We need to find it,” replied Jon.

“Since when do you care about brooches? Did your wildling princess give it to you as a favor, or perhaps it was a gift from your precious Satin?” Robb teased.

Margaery heard a shout of surprise as one boy tackled the other. Amused, she slipped behind the trunk of a large pine and watched the brothers roughhouse. Robb and Jon were wrestling in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Margaery could almost imagine the pair playing this same game during the summer when they were still green boys not kings or men of the Night’s Watch. Margaery was reminded of that when she heard her betrothed emit the howls and yelps of a wolf. Finally, Robb pinned Jon under him, growling slightly. Jon twisted and looked away. Satisfied, Robb took a large pile of snow and smashed it into Jon’s face. Jon was about to retaliate when he noticed Margaery. 

“Oh, you’re here.” he said awkwardly. “Arya was supposed to tell me when you arrived. Apologies my lady.”

Robb whipped his head back towards Jon. “What.”

“You’ve spent too long dragging your feet.” said Arya suddenly appearing on horseback. “Both of you.”

“You need to be around each other,” agreed Jon. He slunk towards Arya until suddenly, he was atop Margaery’s anxious mare. “This is a necessary precaution. You will need to know each other if you are to survive the winter.”

For a moment, Jon looked like he was far away, reliving a sweet memory. Then, he spurred his horse and dashed off. Arya turned back to glare at Robb.

“Stupid,” she declared, sticking her tongue out, before racing towards Jon. 

Margaery watched as the horses disappeared into the forest, leaving her alone with Robb. He had yet to acknowledge her, and he was much more subdued than he was a few moments ago.

“My lady, I’m sorry you had to see that. If I had known you were here I would have-”

“It’s no matter,” Margaery reassured him. “Seeing you with your family only makes my heart long for mine.”

“Oh yes, your family.” Robb stuttered. “Have you written to them of our official betrothal. I’m sure they will be pleased.”

“I sent the raven out last week. Hopefully, the snow won’t delay their response too long.”

“That’s- nice.” he finished awkwardly. 

Out of his element, he seemed much more of a boy Margaery. It seems the wolf and the king were not able to completely freeze the boy out of Robb. The confidence he displayed that morning after his transformation had fled him today. It seems that Margaery would have to take the lead this time.

“Your Grace,” she asked politely. “Perhaps, it would be nice to take a walk through the Wolfswood. I’m sure you have the most intimate knowledge of it, or at least, more than I do.”

Robb visibly stiffened after her last remark. He looked as if he was going to bolt at any moment. Boldly, she dropped all of her decorum, and looked him in the eye.

“You asked me to be honest, so I will. Do not disregard what I said to you; I will not treat you like some abomination.”

The tension bled from his shoulders. “I had worried that you were having second thoughts. I did not want to make any assumptions.”

Margaery reached to clasp his elbow. “We swore an oath together. I am trying to fulfill my end, and so must you. Be proud of who you are,” she encouraged. “Own it.”

Robb nodded softly. “ I suppose,” he swallowed. “I should give you a proper tour then.”

Among the towering sentinels and twisted trees devoid of their leaves, the forest seemed unsettling. Margaery found it hauntingly beautiful. They walked in silence for the most part with Robb occasionally pointing out hideaways from his childhood and other spots from his memories. Once, Margaery asked him to stop so she could look at the fat little birds still flitting across branches even in the dead of winter. Sometimes, Margaery would even catch a glimpse of a fox’s tail or an owl’s wing. 

They reached a narrow gorge. Gnarled roots covered the icy slope, but Margaery insisted on pressing on. Just as they reached the bottom, she tripped over a root and almost fell into the rushing river if Robb had not caught her at the last moment. He steadied her and worriedly checked for injuries. He looked up at her, panicking.

“Your dress, it’s ripped.”

“Oh, it is nothing,” she dismissed. “I ripped it when I fell from my horse.”

“You fell from your horse?” Robb asked quietly.

“Yes, she had become quite skittish for some reason and threw me off of her back.”

“It is my fault,” Robb admitted ashamed. “Of late, animals have been frightened of me. They spook when I am near. Some of the war horses that were accustomed to having Grey Wind on the battlefield with them are fine, but the rest-”

Robb grew quiet again, and looked away. Margaery slipped her hand into his. “Well then, we can both be terrible riders together,” she comforted.

Robb squeezed her hand in thanks.

“Besides, a wolf is a much nobler mount that a horse. There’s a kingly quality to wolves. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace,” Margaery teased.

Robb blushed terribly and grinned. They walked along the riverbank watching the chunks of ice float down swirling eddies and rushing rapids. Margaery followed the sound of roaring water until she saw a small waterfall cascading over the bedrock. There was a nearby boulder that was only lightly dusted with snow. After dusting it off, she perched on it at let her toe just touch the water. She sat there looking at her reflection and listening to the calming noise of the waterfall while Robb wandered around the surrounding woods. 

He took pine branches from the forest floor and bound them together sprigs of holly using the scraps from Margaery’s dress. Brandishing the two makeshift crowns, he rested his own on his brow before gingerly placing Margaery’s on her head. 

“Wait,” Margaery said softly. “They need a finishing touch.” She broke the thin icicles lining the rocks, and tucked them into the crowns so that they stuck up like points. Robb smiled bashfully, his pink cheeks standing out on his pale face. Margaery laughed. With branches and icicles on their heads and snowflakes melting in their hair, they looked like the King and Queen of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can probably tell, I've decided to do the snapshots non-chronologically. For those of you who need a timeline to understand a work, the timeline is 3, 1, 2. I've also made some references to future snapshots that will fit into the timeline (Robb's "lessons" for one). If anyone wants a specific snapshot or moment they want to see happen, I'm 100% open to suggestions, just leave a comment down below. I'm currently working on this fic, and another one Robb related so expect the next update not to be for a few weeks or so. Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends and Happy Holidays to everyone else!!!


	3. The Courtship Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another series of snapshots and snippets following "The Betrothal". Again these are non chronological, but if you want a rough timeline, these snapshots all take place before the big reveal scene on the battlements of Winterfell from last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates in the middle of a global pandemic after months of inactivity.. what's poppin'*  
In all serious, I hope everyone is staying safe and practicing social distancing. For all those who lost a loved on to COVID-19, I am deeply sorry for your loss, and know that the whole world is here to support you in these trying times. Please, stay safe and calm you guys, I know it seems like the world is ending, but WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS TOGETHER. In the meantime, relax, pick up some new hobbies, and read this new chapter (yayyyy!!)
> 
> *updates in the middle of a second wave of a global pandemic after months of inactivity.. insert squidward with crutches picture  
I hope everyone is still safe. I made some very minor edits to this chapter, but after some deep thought, I thought that I would clarify some things about my OC. As a PoC, I really wanted to include someone of BIPOC origins in this fic because I feel like that is something that is missing in the fantasy genre and asoiaf fic. I've always headcanoned the free folk as being indigenous (a la the North American definition of indigenous), so I wanted to include a native character in the story. His role will be relatively minor, but I made some edits in an attempt to distance my character, Amaruq, from the classic tropes/stereotypes that are too often given to BIPOC supporting characters. I am no expert on Inuit culture from which the character of Amaruq will draw inspiration from, but I want Inuit culture to be represented and reflected respectfully as much as possible. I'm trying to educate myself, but if you notice any inaccuracies please let me know.
> 
> On another note, I also want to clarify that in this universe, I am making the Stark's connection to the free folk more explicit. Again, I've always headcanoned the Starks as having indigenous heritage (though in a prejudiced society such as Westeros I think they would have tried to distance themselves from it). I've had my own experiences with being mixed race and I hope to include some things I've learned about trying to reconnect with your culture while trying to find your place within it. While this will be explored more in later chapters, I wanted to add it in here because I realize that my writing may have come off as appropriative or alluding to a "POC character teaches white character the 'ancient ways of their culture'" that appears unfortunately in a lot of media featuring native characters and also that one Matt Damon movie where he's the hero of ancient China for some reason ??? 
> 
> Anyways, just some general notes and clarifications. Thanks for the read!

1.  
The wildling arrived a week ago. Apparently, he was here at the behest of Jon who, out of concern for his brother’s erratic behavior, felt that a mentor would be good for Robb. Upon hearing the wildling’s explanation in the Great Hall, Robb promptly unsheathed his sword and leveled it at him, growling all the while. When the wildling growled back, Margaery saw a ribbon of fear lance down Robb’s spin before he howled in pain and transformed. Faced with a bloodthirsty wolf, the wilding was unfazed. The two circled one another before Robb lunged. In an instant, he was on the floor; he snarled and shook his head helplessly against the wilding’s hold. 

“There is much you do not know about being a wolf,” the man whispered. “And much less about being an alpha.” Then, he released Robb who immediately took off. No one had seen him since.

Margaery immediately bound the wilding in chains for assaulting the King, yet the next morning, she found him leisurely strolling across the grounds. Margaery trailed him for a few moments before drawing her dagger and holding it at his throat.

“You are a fierce woman,” he laughed. “If he had not already claimed you as his, perhaps I would have stolen you myself.” Like water, he flowed under her knife and continued walking.

“You’re like him then,” she panted as she struggled to keep up. “A wolf.”

“We are a dying culture,” he answered . “But some of us still persist beyond the wall. And none behind it. Until now.” 

“Why him?” she asked. “Why now?”

The wildling turned and regarded her with his strange, narrow eyes. He looked like no one she had ever seen before. He had a round face and permanently reddened cheeks from the cold. He had light copper skin similar to the Dornish despite their different climes, but his most intriguing feature was his eyes. His irises were almost the same raven black shade as his hair and his eyes were shallow and almond-shaped. She had heard that the Yi Tish also had those strange eyes, but this was the first time she had truly seen someone with them. They were piercing in their intensity. 

“You will have to ask him. He is a strange creature even to me. I am here to teach him the ways of the wolves. It is you who must teach him the ways of a king. He will return when he is ready.”

2.

“Tell me the story,” Margaery said quietly. “Tell me the story of how you came to be.”

It was sunset, and Margaery was standing in their secret part of the forest. The waterfall was frozen solid now , and Margaery had to wipe off a thick layer of snow in order to seat herself on her favorite rock, but this place was still theirs. The throne room for the King and Queen of the forest. Like the other days, she removed a small dinner of winterberries and cheese from her pack. She nibbled on her measly dinner, scanning the surrounding brush with the hope that he would arrive to keep her company. She had even set out a thick cut of salted pork shipped from Braavos, Robb’s secret favorite. As with the previous nights, she doubts he will appear, but she knows that come next sunset she will find the meat gone. 

Twilight was snuffed out like a dim candle and soon the moon rose over Margaery’s head. Usually, the forest would be dead silent; however, this night was different. A lone raven perched on the leafless tree across from her. Margaery watched as it opened it beak a let out a long forlorn shriek.

“Caw.”

“Caw.”

“Caw.”

Its screams grew louder until they were almost deafening. Around her, the forest grew darker and shadows linger at the edge of her vision. Margaery pulled her cloak tightly around herself. Still, the raven continued to shriek.

“Caw.”

“Caw.”

“Caw.”

Margaery closed her eyes as tightly as she could and pressed her palms to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the raven’s cries. She held this position until her arms grew stiff and she realized that the noise had stopped. Tentatively opening her eyes, she met the raven’s empty gaze with her own before it flew off without a sound. With the raven gone, she turned her attention to the forest floor once more. She felt something move to her left, a shadow of something, and when she looked ahead of her there he was. He was sitting statuesque. His white underbelly glowed with the moonlight while his grey fur blurred his back with the darkness.

In a show of refinement and petulance, she awaited his approach. Grandmother had always told her that the lord should greet the lady first. The soft crunch of snow under his paws signaled his arrival. He moved too fast for her otherwise. Daintily, she extended her delicate wrist which had been bleached bone-white from the sunless winter. The wet huff of his breath on her wrist was his form of a kiss, yet she refused to withdraw her hand as she would in court. She had had enough of his games, time for him to play one of hers. Perplexed, he continued sniffing around the ermine cuff. He had hunted that kill specifically for her. She remembered the day he dropped it in her lap during her sewing circle with Beth. There were still faint flecks of blood that she had never managed to remove.

It took awhile, but eventually, he puzzled out what she wanted. His lips curled in annoyance, but he didn’t make a sound as he dipped his head in defeat. Victorious, she lovingly rubbed his head and scratched behind his ear. The grey fur between her fingers became a deep auburn as the figure below contorted painfully. Bones snapped, and appendages shrank. For what felt like hours, it was as if the man was physically fighting within the wolf to break free. There he was, kneeling before her. Naked as his name day. Her betrothed.

“My Queen,” he murmured, voice hoarse from disuse and exhaustion.

“My King,” she said coldly. “I thought that you abandoned one kingdom for another.”

“A king must know both his people and his land if he is to rule justly.”

“I would hardly consider crows and trees to be people.”

“The Old Gods are with them. It is wise to heed their call.”

“The call of the gods or the call of the wild?”

“In the North, we follow the Old Way. There is no difference.”

“I may not know the Old Ways yet, but I know what it means to be a ruler.”

“Margaery, I-”

“Save it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“To what? To run off at the first sign of danger? Don’t tell me I betrothed myself to a boy afraid of a shadow larger than his own.”

“Look at me now and see if I am as much a boy as you claim.”

“I look and I see a boy who’d rather wear a crown of twigs than a crown of iron.”

Robb clenched his jaw, and looked away. 

“Whatever’s holding you back, you have to let it go,” Margaery chided gently, fingers trailing across his cheek.

“You don’t understand,” he scoffed.

“Then help me understand,” she said softly but with a hint of firmness. 

Robb was silent for a long time. He swallowed thickly before beginning his story.

2.5 

There isn’t much to tell. To be honest, I don’t know which parts are real and which are fiction. I remember hearing of my father’s death. I remember the night when they declared me King. I remember fighting under different skies. I remember Theon’s betrayal, and the news of Winterfell’s capture. I remember fighting harder after that. There was pain. I think. Sometimes, I remember a castle by the sea and warm hands on my brow. Other times, I remember dark eyes on a battlefield and bloodied clothes. I remember the first time I dreamt of Grey Wind. Those are the things I remember most clearly. Running in the forest. Howling at the moon. Killing. Then, one night, I remember pounding drums and laughter. I heard my mother scream. It hurt.

My memories of that time are strange. They feel like a dream. I know I did all the things I remember, but somehow it doesn’t feel like I did. It’s like there are two Robbs: the Robb of Then and the Robb of Now, and I don’t know which is the real one. 

It was dark for a long time, but I think there were whispers. And singing. I woke up somewhere in the Wolfswood. Grey Wind was gone, and I was as I am now. I felt alone. Not just lonely, but as if there was some instinctual part of me that was empty. I ran and ran until I came here. Taking Winterfell back was easy. The servants were half starved and eager for someone to overthrow the Bolton Bastard. I was alone here for a long time. Wasting away with the ghosts of my family. 

It was the first real snowfall of winter when Jon came home. To my surprise, he accepted me for who I am and thought nothing less of me. Then Sansa came home with a fire in her eyes that I’d never seen before. I don’t think I would be a king now if it weren’t for Sansa. She’s the one who wrote to all the lords and gained me their fealty. All I had to do is prove my existence. The rest is her. All that political maneuvering, right under the noses of our enemies. That’s what she’s doing now, negotiating on my behalf at Bear Island. Arya came last, wearing strange clothes and wrapped in mystery. But I’m glad we’re together now. 

Being with them, it made me realize what I was feeling. I needed a pack to protect and care for. People who could love me as much as I loved them. Still, I feel like I’m missing something. I’ll walk past the Broken Tower, catch a glimpse of Sansa’s hair, find the remains of an old crib or sit under the Weirwood, and I feel lost. I know I failed my family, and I swore I would never do it again. But, I don’t know how to be the man I should. I don’t even know if I’m a man or a monster.”

“You are neither. You are a King. You have a deep sense of love. It’s not something to fear. Neither is failure. If you fall, we’ll be here to pick you back up because we know you’d do the same for us. It’s why your family loves you so much. You’re their pack as much as they are yours. In a way, all of the North is your pack. Remember that. Now, come along. There’s hot soup in the kitchens that I don’t want to waste.”

“Margaery?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re part of my pack too.”

3.

A snarl rang out through the courtyard, Margaery watched in fascination as Amaruq laughed and playfully slapped Robb on the snout. 

“You are too slow,” he chided. “Again.”

Robb slowly circled his prey, growling the entire time. He moved faster and faster until he was practically a blur. Margaery saw an arm materialize, then a leg, then suddenly, Robb was standing fully human with a dagger pressed to Amaruq’s throat. 

“Fast enough for you?” he snarled.

Amaruq sighed. “Anger gives you strength.” In one fluid motion, he shifted, overwhelming Robb with his weight, and returned to his human form as if nothing had happened. “But it is also a crutch.”

“A beast is ruled by its emotions. When it’s tired, it sleeps. When it’s hungry, it eats. When it’s lustful, it fucks.” Twirling Robb’s dagger in his hand, he pointed it at Robb’s temple. “You are not. Your third eye makes it so. Awaken it, and you will see beyond the wolf and the man. We are done for today.”

4\. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to learn control,” replied Robb as he stared at the weeping face of the Weirwood. He had planted himself here early this morning, and seemed unlikely to move despite it being near midday. A worrying habit to develop if what Beth had told her was true. The timid little servant girl had blossomed into an observant, clever informant for Margaery. 

“I’ve brought lunch,” Margaery offered as she sat down on a grassy patch close enough to the hot springs to melt away the surrounding snow. Thankfully, Robb had learned since his sojourn into the woods and dutifully moved to be next to her. Dipping her hand into her basket, she casually slapped Robb’s impatient fingers away as she retrieved a wedge of sharp beer cheese, a cut of cured ham, and a wrapped parcel stained with red. Gingerly, she unwrapped the parcel so as not to stain her own fingers, revealing a freshly caught rabbit. 

“I didn’t know what mood you were in,” Margaery explained. “So, I brought both.”

So far, Robb has refused to eat in front of her outside of light meals they’ve shared. Still, Margaery could tell that each time, he had held himself with a rigid propriety that implied deliberate restraint on his part. Robb’s eyes were fixed hungrily on the rabbit’s carcass, and his fingers twitched at his side. 

“Go on,” she encouraged. “I won’t judge.”

Robb looked at her skeptically. Margaery rolled her eyes and sighed. “If you’re not going to eat the bloody rabbit then I will. It was a pain in the arse to wrap.”

“You’ve never sworn like that before,” Robb said surprised.

“Of course I haven’t, I had that trained out of me before I ever set foot in King’s Landing. But we’re in the bloody fucking North aren’t we, and I say what I please,” she teased.

Robb let out a breath, and reached for the rabbit. “You know, if you want to make it easier to wrap. You can remove the fur and separate the limbs from the torso.”

“Can you show me?” Margaery asked eagerly.

“Okay, so you want to find its knee, and break it so that the hide separates from the pelt,” he motioned. She watched transfixed as he effortlessly skinned the rabbit, teaching her as a master would to their apprentice. After the pelt was removed, he began to explain how to cut the rabbit into separate pieces for ease of wrapping. 

“You want to reach along it’s thigh and-” he twisted, wrenching the rabbit’s thigh from its body, sending a spray of blood directly into Margaery’s face. The pair went stock still for a moment until Margaery broke the silence with a great peal of laughter. Robb immediately began to stutter out apologies, but she stopped him. 

“I’ve always complained about my pale complexion, and this happens to be the perfect blush,” she grinned at him wolfishly.

Satisfied with his tutorial and finally comfortable around her, Robb sank his teeth into his prey. It was neither an elegant sight nor a human one, yet Margaery found herself enjoying the companionship as she cut herself bits of the cured ham. Robb ended up spattered with gore while Margaery had barely a crumb on her save the remnants of blood she had forgotten to wipe away and the mud on her skirts. Nevertheless, Margaery insisted on cleaning up after her king.

“Come here,” she chided. “Look, you’ve gotten yourself all dirty.”  
Sated and relaxed from his meal, Robb pillowed his head on her lap as she tried in vain to wipe the blood off of his doublet. She inevitably settled for carding her fingers through his thick auburn hair with the poor excuse of extra cleaning; not that Robb seemed to mind. He had an ironically catlike satisfaction as he stretched out and closed his eyes. The noon sun had pierced through the dense clouds to give them a brief moment of warmth after weeks of bitter grey cold. 

Margaery too closed her eyes and basked in the sun’s rays like the rose sigil of her house. Her fingers continued to comb through Robb’s hair. She loved his hair: its deep red color, the thick curls, the soft texture reminding her of... fur? She looked down and saw her fingers were surrounded by wolf’s fur. Where her betrothed once lay was an enormous wolf blissfully unaware of its existence. 

“Robb,” she exclaimed joyfully. “You’re doing it! You’re controlling your shift!”

Robb’s yellow eyes shot open, and soon he was up, barking happily. He circled her playfully until he had exhausted himself. Then, he sat staring into her eyes with his own, and the transformation began again. It was slower, and not as seamless as before, but it was not as laborious as his transformation in the forest. What’s more was that he, thankfully, was able to keep his clothes this time. 

Robb the man stood in front of her and offered her his hand, looking every bit the gallant king. Grinning ear to ear, Margaery rushed forward and embraced him.

“I’m so proud of you,” she mumbled against his shoulder. 

“My transformations have always been either involuntary or triggered by rage and pain. The times I tried to force it were painful and taxing,” he explained. “ But this time was different.”

“What changed?” she asked.

She felt him smile against her cheek as he whispered in her ear. “This time I thought of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and gave me kudos on the last two chapters. Your support really helps inspire me!! Tbh I was super nervous publishing this, and I'm really happy that so many of you like it!!! Thanks for the love!!! Since, I suddenly have a lot more free time, hopefully I'll update in this month(ish). But for real, thanks guys!!


	4. An Update

Hey guys! Long time no see! I hope everyone is staying safe during the pandemic, and I hope you're making the best out of what a crazy year this has been. 

Now for the serious stuff. I had honestly lost a lot of my interest in asoiaf and GoT by the beginning of 2020, it was just getting harder to find fics that interested me and that affected my passion for writing. Also, I was finishing up high school so I had fallen out of habit with writing. Luckily, I graduated, but that also meant that I would be starting uni, which is a whole other ballgame in terms of work.

Uni's been really rough tbh, and its had a pretty negative effect on my mental health especially with everything being online. BUT, the up side is that I had to relearn what I found meaningful in life and my writing is definitely one of those things. So, as I approach winter break expect some more updates with this fic, and thank you to everyone who has commented and stayed with this story! I am also considering uploading another story or two over the break, but I'm unsure if they're ready to be posted. Of course, once I restart uni, updates will slow again, but there WILL be updates eventually.

Have a happy holidays and happy winter/summer!

-Koko


	5. North & South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 short vignettes on the King in the North and the Queen of the Six Kingdoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! Thank you all so much for your support! I wanted to get this chapter out here ASAP, so expect a few edits over the weekend to fix some minor spelling, grammar, and continuity errors. While I'm not going to put this work on a definite hiatus, expect another gap between updates because I have started uni again and just adopted two kittens :)) which need a lot of attention and care (if anyone has any advice on how to take care of kittens pls lmk lol). Anyways, I hope you enjoy, hope everyone's new year is off to a good start and stay safe!

1.

“It is customary for a lady to kneel before her queen,” said Daenerys coldly.

“Then by all means, you are welcome to do so Lady Daenerys,” Margaery answered, straightening her posture.

“Torrhen Stark knelt to the Targaryens. Along with your own house Lady Margaery for which they were rewarded with the Reach,” reminded Daenerys

“I’m sorry my lady, it must have slipped my mind.” Margaery smiled sweetly. “I never could pay attention to the treaties and histories of men from hundreds of years past. I always found it the most superfluous part of my education.”

“I assure you that I remember my history most clearly. Many have likened me to Aegon the Conqueror, and I trust that you do not need reminding of his three dragons. Dragons that I also have at my command.”

“We have little need for fire here my lady. We’re quite used to the cold. But I must apologize again, you must be freezing. This is your first winter in Westeros is it not? It must be very different from the warmer climates you’re used to. I’ll bring some furs for you.”

Margaery waved a hand at a servant girl standing meekly in the corner. The girl nodded silently and quickly left the room. Daenerys’ jaw tightened. Tyrion had assured her that Robb Stark had little patience for politics and a strict code of honor. Unfortunately, his wife appeared to possess neither.

“I was told that I would be treating with your lord husband.” 

“King Robb has been called away on an important matter.”

“And what is more important than meeting his rightful ruler.”

“King Robb oversees a vast realm larger than all of the South combined. It is only natural that he has more responsibilities than most.”

“Then he should send his Hand to deal with minor internal affairs.

“That is why he delegates the running of Winterfell to me, my lady. I am a much better hostess than he is, but I have little mind for the intricacies of ruling a kingdom. In that regard, we compliment each other.”

Dany pushed down the anger bubbling in her chest and held her tongue against what was obviously a blatant lie. Somehow, she knew that acknowledging it as such would mean she had lost.

“If that is the case,” Daenerys continued. She would not be made a fool of, and she refused to have made this journey in vain. “Then I will remain here until Lord Stark is able to properly receive me.”

“And we will be glad to offer you guest right,” answered Margaery. 

The servant girl returned, her arms laden with thick furs. In her hands, she was balancing a tray of freshly cut Northern barley bread and a small wooden bowl filled with thick flakes of salt. She had set this all up, Daenerys realized. She wanted me to ask for guest right to guarantee I wouldn’t use my dragons. Daenerys refused to be manipulated this easily. She was no longer the girl who cowered from her brother’s raised fists nor was she the naive queen beholden to the whims of the Meerenese elite. 

“My dragons are quite tired from the flight North. They will be best suited for the Godswood to rest.”

“I must apologize again, you must tire of hearing me say so, but the Godswood is already inhabited. Any dragons and I fear the entire keep will be overrun with wolves.”

“Wolves?” Tyrion had mentioned that the Starks had pet direwolves, but the only Stark she had seen was the youngest daughter. 

“Oh yes, we’ve got a whole pack,” grinned Margaery. This time her smile held a touch of genuine warmth rather than the saccharine veneer it previously maintained. The lump of furs curled around her shifted suddenly and two yellow eyes stared down at Daenerys. Margaery smoothed down the fur at the top of the direwolf’s massive head. The beast closed its eyes contentedly and snuffled softly. “Oh don’t worry about Grey Wind. He’s just as tame as your dragons. Please, eat.”

She gestured at the platter still held in front of Dany although the poor servant girl’s arm were shaking slightly with the effort. 

Dany took a few hasty bits of the bread and a fingerful of salt before addressing the girl. “What is your name?”

“Beth, milady,” replied the girl timidly. She had a thick Northern accent and unkempt, wispy hair tucked under a drab grey headscarf that matched her servants attire.

“Thank you again Beth,” Daenerys said warmly. “For the bread and the furs.”  
Daenerys gently took the heavy furs from Beth and stood awkwardly with them bunched up in her arms. For a moment, she was nervous. You are the blood of the dragon. You are a khaleesi and a queen. She assured herself. There is nothing here for you to fear save the howls of wolves, and what are wolves to a dragon. Reluctantly, she wrapped the furs around her shoulders, longing for her lion’s pelt.

“I have met with you and observed the guest right. ” Daenerys commanded. “ I will not leave this hall until I know Robb Stark will not make a fool of me. I demand that you send a raven to him immediately.”

“And if I refuse?” Margaery asked playfully. “My husband hates interruptions.”

“Then I will remember this disloyalty when I take the Iron Throne,” Daenerys returned sharply. She was quite tired of Lady Tyrell’s little game. “And I am not one who treats disrespect lightly, such actions will not go unpunished. Perhaps the North is in need of some new leadership.”

A deep growl rumbled like thunder. The direwolf was awake again, and this time, Margaery’s petting did nothing to calm it. It stood up, jumped down from the throne, and stalked slowly towards Dany. At its full height, the beast was at eye level with her. She stood deathly still, determined not to let any discomfort show in her body language. The wolf continued to growl and glare before it suddenly turned tail and returned to Margaery’s side, a silent sentinel of House Stark.

“I’m sure King Robb will return soon,” smiled Margaery patronisingly. “Fortunately, we have already prepared for your lodging, so do not feel guilty about staying as long as you please.”

Daenerys gritted her teeth. In her mind, she thought of the Iron Throne with its mangled swords twisting into each other. She imagined the chill of the steel and the feeling of being seated so high it was almost like flying. 

“Of course Lady Margaery. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“I can show you to your room my lady,” said a quiet, youthful voice from behind Daenerys. A short figure, nearly drowned by their long black and white cloak, had appeared from the shadows. The figure lowered their hood to reveal the face of a young girl. She could not have had her moonsblood yet, but her grey eyes carried a darkness that betrayed her true maturity. Like Daenerys, she seemed to be fitting back a scowl though she was much less successful. 

“I am Arya of House Stark.” The girl, Arya, curtsied gracelessly. However, Dany suspected this lack of propriety to be more a sign of indifference than clumsiness. Clearly, this girl had seen war in one of its monstrous forms. 

“Thank you Lady Arya,” Daenerys said. 

Arya gestured for Daenerys to follow, and Daenerys smoothed down her dress before striding out of the hall after her cloaked guide. She could feel Margaery’s smirk behind her back and finally allowed herself to scowl in earnest. These Starks are more troublesome than she expected.

It was only after the dragon queen finally retreated from the hall that Margaery let out a sigh. She turned to Grey Wind, whose head was now resting on the throne’s right armrest. Margaery turned to look at his big, baleful eyes and rubbed the fur below his ear affectionately.

“She is certainly the mother of dragons,” she murmured. “I’m surprised she didn’t spit flames at me herself when I refused to call for you.”

Grey Wind’s lip curled in a soundless snarl. Margaery laughed and batted his head playfully. “Oh stop it. I had it all handled, you don’t need to go around intimidating our guest like we’re barbarians. She’s going to think we’re threatening her.”

Grey Wind cocked his head and regarded Margaery with skepticism. 

“Oh you know what I mean you silly wolf. We can’t play all of our cards just yet.” She brushed a lock of hair that had fallen into her face. “Besides, I don’t need you protecting me all the time.”

“What else is a King meant to do other than protect his queen.”

The grinning face of her beloved now in front of her, Margaery made to stand up, but she was pushed back onto the throne by the force of Robb’s kiss. She did not know how long they had been kissing, squashed on the throne together, their limbs tangled together, before Robb stopped and breathed, “You were amazing, Margaery. Gods, I think I love you.”

2.

This time, Daenerys did not wait obediently for Lady Stark to fetch her husband. She had dismounted from Drogon and immediately marched towards the throne room, pushing the great doors in before she had even been announced. She strode past Robb’s court, the grim faced Northern lords and, to her surprise, dour Northern ladies staring at her in contempt. Daenerys glared defiantly at the icy figure of Robb Stark. 

When she had met him last, he was reclusive and distant, often refusing to wear his crown and preferring the emptiness of the surrounding woods to his throne room. Now, he wore the crown of winter proudly, and he sat in his throne as rigidly as a statue, betraying not a hint of discomfort. Even his robes seemed to fit him better, no longer as bedraggled and sharper, though Daenerys could still see flecks of mud and leaves stuck to his furs. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she demanded.

Where Margaery’s tone was layered with emotion, Robb’s tone was stony and chilled. 

“Not unless it suited me.”

For all of his infuriating qualities, from his stubborn insistence on an independent North and his complete rejection of any and all marriage alliances for House Stark, Daenerys was at ease with his blunt nature. She too struggled with the wordplay Tyrion and Varys were so fond of.

“And are the rumors true?”

“Some of them. I do not dine on the flesh of traitors and southerners nor do I bed wolves. The rest have some degree of truth to them.” He met her gaze challengingly.

“I would see the truth for myself then,” she replied, tilting her chin haughtily. She wished that she had brought her crown with her. It was difficult to appear regal when her hair was tangled and her face was red from the flight.

“No,” he answered sternly.

“I have a right to know what secrets my lords are keeping from me.”

“He is not your lord,” a green haired girl piped up. “He is the King in the North.”

“Wylla is correct,” Robb said slowly. “I am the King in the North, and as such, you are in no position to command me. So the answer is no.”

He would never give in to her here in front of his lords. She was outnumbered, and any attempt at force would only inflame tensions between the Northern and Southern regions of her kingdom. Daenerys would have to make a tactical retreat.

“Then I will not bother you with this matter,” conceded Daenerys. “I am sure my Master of Whispers will be able to tell me all about your ability by the time I return to King’s Landing.”

“I trust that you will have a safe journey home,” Robb responded coolly.

“I would ask for lodging for a night to recoup before I depart at dawn,” Daenerys asked politely. “Drogon will stay in the Wolfswood. He is already fed, so he will likely sleep until we leave tomorrow.”

“I will ask Margaery to arrange a room for you,” Robb declared.

Daenerys was grateful that she had retained more memory of Winterfell’s layout than her hosts expected. Compared to the maze of walkways in the pyramids of Meereen, the king’s chambers were not particularly hard to locate. Aided by the light of the full moon, she slipped silently from her room tucked away in the southeastern hall towards the main lodging in the center of the keep. Her hair was still short enough to be tucked under a cap, and, with some shading with her makeup and a tight riding vest, her small stature allowed her to easily pass for a messenger boy. 

Sneaking through the torchlit hallways, Dany was determined to see an end to this farce of a meeting. She had been a fool of not once, but twice by the Starks, and she would not accept defeat a third time. A dragon does not bow to a wolf, her brother would have said. Dany could not afford another show of open defiance against her reign with the Tyrells giving her support in words only. Their alliance was secured through Dany’s burning of the Iron Fleet, but without Euron Greyjoy as a common enemy, the Tyrells have little motivation to place their queen before their favored daughter, whatever surname she bears. 

The last thing she needed was another upstart king claiming favor from the gods be them old, new, drowned or red. The followers of R'hllor were largely swayed by the work of Kinvara and Quaithe, but the Faith Militant still had the potential to be a problem. No, now was the time to consolidate her power more securely, and that included the most wayward of her regions. 

She strode into the room where Robb Stark was sitting at a corner desk, hunched over missives. On the windowsill next to him was a lantern that filled the room with a dim, orange light and shrouded Robb’s face in shadow.

“Lord Stark,” she greeted. 

Robb did not look up from his writing and answered with a short, “Lady Daenerys.”

“I will speak to you about the state of the North,” she declared. “I demand that you officially reaffirm your fealty to the Iron Throne and renew the vows made by Torrhen Stark.”

Robb was still bent over his desk. “The pact between the Iron Throne and the North was broken when the Mad King, your father, killed my grandfather and my uncle. The North is a free and independent kingdom now.” He dipped his quill into the inkwell and continued to scratch out another message.

“Then the North shall be mine by right of conquest,” Dany asserted.

“Even with your dragons, you have no hope to keep the North.” He reached over to retrieve more parchment. “It is too vast a kingdom with too stubborn a people to ever succumb to foreign rule again.” He smirked slightly. “Perhaps it is the Free Folk influence, but we have grown to like kneeling to no King but the King we chose. If the winter doesn’t kill your men, rebels will.”

He was silent as he rolled up another letter, sealing it with grey wax and pressing a direwolf seal onto it with his signet ring. “Besides, dragons are not invincible either.”

Dany’s blood turned to ice. She marched over to Robb’s desk, snatched the letter from his hand and thrust it into the lantern’s flame, still clutched in her palm.

“I am a Targaeryen,” she yelled. “The last Targaeryen. I have seen things and done things you could not even fathom. I have sacrificed my husband, my child, my happiness for this crown.”

She opened her palm and let the charred remains of the letter fall to the floor. “Everything else is dust to me, and I will not have my sacrifices be belittled by the whelp of the Usurper’s dog.”

Robb tensed at his desk, his cool composure evaporating. “What did you call my father?”

“A dog,” she sneered. “A cowardly, loathsome dog with the naive belief that his lecher of a friend would be a better king than my brother.”

“Is there something not to your liking in your room my lady?” Margaery interrupted. She was standing in the doorway, but quickly walked over to her husband, blocking him from view slightly. “Perhaps some more furs on your bed?”

Daenerys ignored her, and continued in her rant. Margaery was too late to stem the rising anger of both rulers. Just a push more and Daenerys will finally get Robb Stark to play by her rules, not the terms of his meddling wife.

“He was a fool to provoke the dragons,” she glared. “Just as you and your wife are fools to provoke me.”

Robb still had not moved. If Dany was paying attention, she would have noticed that he hadn’t even let out a breath. Then, he twisted his head slowly, painfully and looked at her with a look of murderous rage.

“My father,” he bit out. “Was an honorable man. A greater man than any other in the realm who lost his head in the pursuit of truth and justice, trampled under the scramble to secure the throne that you sit on now.”

“Your father is dead. And so is your mother. And so are mine.” she shot back. “I will not repeat the mistakes of my father, and you will not repeat the mistakes of yours in pursuing another foolish rebellion.”

“Mistakes?” He growled. “My father’s mistake was not in rebelling against a mad king. His mistake was involving himself in the cesspit of the South when it is the North where he truly belonged. As for my mother,” he hesitated, swallowing. “As for my mother, she died for the North. She died having been betrayed by the Southron illusions of honor and chivalry. She died a grieving mother in the face of insurmountable horror and decay. Any mistakes of my parents were made amongst the rot of the South, and that rot is not something I will allow to spread northward.”

Dany allowed her lips to peel back to reveal a dragon’s smile. In that moment, she breathed fire. “No, you simply allow that rot to share your bed. Tell me Lord Stark, do you loathe your family so much to let your cock choose not one but two Southern brides to spoil your reign. You are the most hypocritical- ”

“How dare you insult my husband like that!”

“Don’t you dare speak of Margaery that way!”

Husband and wife spoke nearly in unison, both outrages on the other’s behalf. Margaery was advancing towards her with all sense of propriety abandoned.

At the same time, Robb’s anger had reached astronomical heights. He was standing now, but his hands were curled atop the desktop, his nails sinking into the dark wood. Moonlight flooded the room, the thick clouds having parted to reveal the full moon high in the night sky. Suddenly, Robb let out a deep, inhuman growl and stumbled backwards. Covering his face with his hands, he turned away from her, struggling to maintain control of his limbs.

Margaery stopped in her tracks and turned on her heels, concerned for the sudden change in her husband.

Daenerys suddenly felt much smaller. Uncertain, she asked, “Lord Stark?”

“Just-just leave.” muttered Stark shakily. His voice was muffled by his palms, but there was an edge of wildness to it that hadn’t existed before.

“No,” Daenerys replied. Whatever trick this was, she would not allow herself to fall for it. She had come here for a reason, and she intended to see her purpose to the end. “We have not yet concluded with our nego-”

“I said leave!” Stark’s voice was filled with pain. His back was still to her, but she noticed that his arms had begun to shake.

Startled, Dany took a step back before saying again hesitantly, “My lord, I have not received-”

“Just leave you stupid girl!” yelled Margaery, racing to Robb’s side.

Brought out of her shock, Daenerys fled the room, slamming the door behind her. She was halfway down the hall when she was consumed with a morbid curiosity. This was her chance to see what monster the King in the North became in the dark of the night. She returned to the door and peered through the keyhole to see the scene inside.

“Robb,” Margaery cried out. She was cupping his face in her hands. “Stay with me. Focus on me. You’ve been doing so well.”

He let out another yelp of pain and hunched forward. He pressed his head into Margaery’s chest as his back arched. His legs went limp and he fell completely into Margaerys’ outstretched arms. There was a ripping sound and in a blur of motion, Robb Stark’s body seemed to move of its own accord, twisting and writhing inhumanly. Mesmerized, Daenerys continued to spy through the keyhole onto the horrifying scene. In the King of the North’s place was the massive direwolf that Daenerys had seen in the throne room. 

The wolf let out a frustrated growl, snapping its jaws at an unseen enemy. It paced the room impatiently, but it was so large that it hardly had room to turn around. Margaery sighed sadly and sank to her knees.

“Come here you silly wolf,” she whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

The wolf stopped abruptly and trotted over to her side immediately where it sank to the floor with an unceremonious thud. He placed his head atop Margaery’s knees and let her card her hands through the fur on his side. Breathy singing filled the room. It was slightly off key, but Daenerys saw the tension begin to leak from the wolf.

“You should not be here,” said a gruff voice. He was no nobleman. His general air was one of stubborn disregard, and his omission of her honorific seemed purposeful. His round face was reddened from the cold, giving him a cheerful, fatherly look, but his eyes were harsh and scrutinizing. 

Dany almost flinched, but she steeled her looks and glared at the unkempt man. “And who are you?”

“Amaruq.” he replied shortly. Even his accent was strange to her, much throatier than hers with a tendency to cut off the ends of words. She had been told by Tyrion than her accent sounded more lyrical and flowing, owing to her Free City upbringing. 

“Daenerys.” She was surprised when he reached his hand out in the traditional Westerosi greeting. They clasped elbows awkwardly, neither at home with the gesture. 

“You are not from here,” she surmised. 

“Neither are you,” he returned. He beckoned her to follow and she did, walking briskly to keep up with his long strides.

As they walked, they maintained a comfortable silence. They cross the courtyard to the gates of the Godswood. Under the eerie blue light of the moon, the Godswood looked only more ominous to her. She was comfortable living under the stars, but the wildness of the godswood felt more sinister to her. The trees reminded her how small she was, and she found it much easier to drown in the snowdrifts than among the grasses of the Dothraki Sea and the sand dunes of the Red Waste. Nonetheless, she continued to walk with Amaruq who had thankfully slowed his pace so that they were now side by side.

“Why do you stay here, if you are not from here?” she asked.

“It was not my choice,” he said. “I was forced to leave my homeland when the White Walkers came. The North is the only safe place for my people.”

“Are the Others not defeated?” She remembered flying above the Wall herself, burning the endless lines of reanimated corpses. For a moment, she smelled smoke and burnt flesh in the air. 

“They are for now, but many of my people are still fearful.” Amaruq’s eyes turned flinty. “And what do we have to return to; our villages are ruins, our families scattered. No. I do not think I will return home for a long time.”

“I too have had to leave my home,” she murmured, suddenly feeling shy. “I was only a babe when I left Westeros for the Free Cities, but it is all I have longed for since.” Unbidden, her thoughts returned to the house in Braavos with the red door and the lemon tree. Perhaps that too was a ruin now. “And I know what it is like to feel like an outsider.”

“An existence rarely coveted,” Amaruq nodded sagely. “But I stay here nonetheless.” He smiled slightly.

“I have a daughter your age.” He stopped to admire a fallen weirwood leaf, twisting its stem between his fingers. “We were separated when we arrived here. I went to garrison one of the Crows’ castles. She settled the New Gift with her mother. I have not seen her since.”  
“I’m sorry.” Dany picked up a leaf of her own and held it limply in her palm.

“I pray to the gods every day that some day I may find her again.” He spun the leaf again and let go, allowing the breeze to carry it away.

“I hope that you find her,” Dany said earnestly. Her own leaf was still held delicately in her palm. Its blood red hue reminded her of a heart, and she thought of her own child, riding with his father in the nightlands and of her other children soaring high above the clouds.

They returned to their silence and walked back to the keep. As they crossed the Great Keep, Dany noticed that one room was still aglow with candlelight. 

“I understand why you stay in the North, but why in Winterfell, helping him.” Her mouth curled into a sneer reflexively.

“Because he needs me. Because he is the key to finding my daughter.” He followed her gaze up towards the candlelit window. “Because he is the hope for the survival of my culture.”

Dany stopped walking. “What?”

“His condition is not a mere happenstance. He carries in him the blood of my people. From whom, I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

“Does he know?” He looked nothing like Amaruq with his ruddy cheeks and flaming red hair. He had no reason to expect his heritage is nothing more than he had been told.

“Not yet,” he “I do not wish to frighten him nor overburden him with responsibility. For now, I take comfort knowing that I am not the last.”

Dany smiled sadly. “ I wish that I was not the last of the dragons either.”

“Do not be too sure,” Amaruq admonished lightly. “We are never as alone as we think we are.”

At the far side of Winterfell, Jon Snow rode through the gates after a visit with his brother beyond the Wall.

3.

From the annals of Maester Samwell Tarly:

And so, the King Robb and Queen Daenerys did strike an accord between the two kingdoms, and henceforth, the North and South remained in relative peace throughout their reigns. 

In their later years, the two monarch shared a deep respect for one another, often visiting each other’s courts and lending aid whenever possible. Queen Daenerys was instrumental in overseeing several negotiations between the Free Folk and Northern Lords, along with funding and leading several expeditions to the Lands Without Winter to rebuild lost Free Folk settlements. In turn, King Robb repaid her kindness by welcoming any Dothraki or former slave who wished to live in the North and joining her embargo on any trade between Westeros and any slave city or kingdom.

The rulers were as collaborative as they were independent of another. Similar policies were passed within the kingdoms, and King Robb credited Queen Daenerys’s creation of a Southern parliament with his adoption of the Pàrlamaid Na Dùthcha a Tuath Agus Saor or “Pàrlamaid”. This collaboration is due in large part to the effort of Jon Snow, a close counsellor and family member to both rulers alongside his role of ambassador to the Free Folk. Through their political and familiar ties, both kingdoms experienced a revival after the long years of the War of the Five Kings and the Long Night.

This revival was not merely ideological. While debate continues to circulate over the extent of their individual roles, the reigns of King Robb and Queen Daenerys coincide with an unprecedented magical revival within Westeros that continues to yield strange new innovations to this day. 

Thus, the good king and queen stand as beacons of resilience, wonder, and prosperity for their people, and are well on their way to becoming as legendary as the heroes of old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did Daenerys justice. She's not my favorite character, but I didn't want to outright villify her. I tried to present her reasoning and actions as flawed but still understandable. Especially in the second vignette, most of her speech is her trying to provoke some kind of reaction from Robb because she feels like she is being belittled and not taken seriously. Of course, that doesn't excuse what she says, but it also means that she doesn't necessarily mean everything she says.
> 
> I'm not super happy with the last part, and ik the whole "history book" thing is a bit overdone but its the best i've got so far. c'est la vie. 
> 
> I've also always had a headcanon that some of the Free Folk are native/indigenous because they remind me of the groups living in the artic region. I also have a headcanon that the Starks have some more recent Free Folk descent, so that's what I'm alluding to w the whole Robb Free Folk thing. Hope you all enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, be ready for some fluff next chapter. Sorry there wasn't a lot of interaction/romance between Robb and Margaery, but I really wanted to establish the setting and set up Margaery as a character in her own right. This next part is going to deal a lot more with them falling in love as well as encouraging each other to find their own way. Ok so onto an explanation for the OOCness. Obviously Robb is much more withdrawn and angry because he is struggling with his lycanthropy as well as the consequences of the War of the Five Kings. I kept how Robb became King in the North intentionally vague because I wanted people to come up with their own ideas (the same with how Daenerys became queen). In my head, the Red Wedding did happen, but I didn't want to spend too much time trying to find some elaborate way he survived it. I also don't plan on explaining how he became a werewolf too a great extent for the same reasons. Robb will also be shown to be much more "wolfish", and due to his lycanthropy, he loses some of the awareness for what is socially acceptable (nor does he really care). Onto Margaery, I've seen a lot of fics depict her as totally powerhungry or totally benevolent, and I wanted to give her a more complex motivation. Obviously, playing the game is the only way for a highborn lady to have any form of agency, on the other hand, it deliberately jeopardizes the lives and well being of others. That's also why I think Margaery and Robb complement each other. They both have been restrained by their duty and societal convention. I want to explore them trying to move past these constructs and become their own people. I don't know when I'll post the next chapter, but expect it at least by mid November. Thanks for reading!!!


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